Witching Hour Embers

It may be selfish,
Or a liars desperate last minute truth.
To say I still have hopes to be an inspiration to another wavering soul in the moonlight.

Tomorrow I write for me.
But, there is still a glow left in the sky,
As the embers of the sun smolder behind my mountain side view.
I will write what I can and quickly display it just for you.

I fall so easily for the Muses of
Love, inspiration, and song.
I like to pour out my soul and watch it bleed for the selfish hope that tomorrow can always bring something new.
I imagine a soulful wisdom that may come over me, a wisdom that desires to bleed truth and nothing more.

I won’t change the world.
I, as a naïve boy thought I would, and
All the while envisioning pride and power.
I have no politics that are of solid force, hold no worldly preachers pulpit place, and have no greater position than the lesser of the aimless wretch.

I painfully hold to beliefs that whither in public as if a falling leaf, and this fact often leaves me utterly dismayed.
As this witching hour ticks and falls away, I will say good riddance to another aimless day.

I hope you read this and need no story map. I hold to a belief of no wrong turns, and that truth lies in the daily turning of the page.

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